Fathers and Sons
by reading
Summary: Ryan's father comes to get him.
1. Default Chapter

_Fathers and Sons_

_I don't own The O.C. or anything associated with it. Darn._

_xxxx_

The hand, work-roughened and large, held hard over his mouth, snapped Ryan out of a deep sleep. Panicked, he clawed at the hand as it pressed his head deeper into the pillow. Eyes wide, desperate to escape, Ryan tried to make out the face that loomed over him even as he struggled.

"Hush!" It was an urgent whisper and the fingers of the hand gripped his cheeks painfully as it shoved him down again for emphasis. "Quit squirming." The shadowed head came close, and Ryan recognized the shadowed features with a sinking sensation in his stomach.

Ryan went instantly, utterly still. The flash of teeth indicated approval, and slowly, the grip relaxed on the now motionless boy.

"Hey, kiddo."

xxxx

Seth flipped over again for the tenth time in the last ten minutes. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he was anxious with his parents gone for a long weekend. He didn't like being in the house by himself, and he'd done everything he could to keep Ryan occupied in the hopes of convincing him to sleep in the big house.

"I'm going to bed."

"What? Already? Dude, it's only 2:23!"

"Yeah. In the morning, Seth." Ryan put the game controller down and started to climb to his feet.

"So what? Mom and Dad are gone. We can stay up as late as we want!" Seth picked up Ryan's abandoned controller and tried to make him take it again. "Come on, one more game."

Ryan took the controller and considered giving in. Seth was looking at him with hopeful, encouraging eyes. "Just one more game. I promise."

Ryan eyed him with distrust. "You said that before the last game."

"I didn't say, 'I promise.'"

"You didn't?" Ryan couldn't remember. "Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure. I wouldn't lie to you, man."

Ryan jiggled the controller in his hand, clearly still suspicious.

"OK," he capitulated. "One last game. And then I'm going to bed."

"Sure. OK." Seth punched in the next game.

As he was setting it up, he said, as nonchalantly as possible, "You know, you don't have to go all the way over to the pool house. You could crash on the couch, if you're too tired."

Ryan was fiddling with the controller. "What? Why would I do that?" He looked back up at the screen as the game started. "It's like 30 feet to my own bed."

"Well, you said you were tired. I'm just sayin'."

Focused on the game, and rolling his eyes, Ryan just shook his head.

After that game, Ryan had left. Abandoned him. For the comfort of his own bed. Seth knew that he was being silly, but the house seemed awfully empty without his parents or Ryan around.

Seth turned again. Out of his window he could see the faint glow of light from the pool house. _Sweet_.

Seth stuck his feet in a pair of sneakers and jogged down the stairs. He'd just see why Ryan was up.

xxxx

Once his father had released him, Ryan had scrambled off the bed and out of reach. Wrapping his arms around his chest, he backed away almost into the bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered.

His father stayed seated on the bed, and Ryan suddenly noticed two other men moving restlessly around the room. One of them switched on the overhead light, and Ryan blinked. "Who are they?"

The dread he felt in the pit of his stomach, rose like bile in his throat. "What are you doing here?" He repeated it, louder this time.

Dave Atwood, whose eyes had been alternately following the movement of the other men around the room and taking in the laptop, the stereo, the Gameboy, turned to his son. "I've come to get my kid."

xxxx

Seth tapped lightly on the door before he opened it.

"Hey, are you still…?" He tapered off as he took in the scene before him.

"Seth…," Ryan started as a hand reached out and jerked Seth roughly into the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Hey, ow!" Seth pulled his arm free and turned startled eyes to the man next to him.

"Who's this?" The man who had been sitting on the bed stood, and turned toward the door.

"Dad…"

Seth's head whipped to Ryan and then back to look at Dave Atwood. Dave held up a hand to his son.

"Please." Ryan took a step forward from the corner he'd retreated to. His eyes went from his father to Seth and back to his father.

It was Ryan's voice that finally got Seth's full attention. Seth looked at Ryan and realized that the other boy was terrified. The pleading voice was shaky and it seemed like Ryan's arms, wrapped tightly around his torso, were the only things keeping him from coming completely apart. What was going on?

"I… I'm Seth."

"Seth what?"

"Seth Cohen?" Seth didn't know why he'd made it a question.

"Cohen. Is that Jewish?"

"Dad." Ryan's voice was unsteady.

Seth felt his heart start to pound. "Yes." He cut a look at Ryan. "It is."

There was no reply.

"Let's go inside." Dave Atwood got off the bed and moved toward Seth. Seth stiffened when he felt the hand settle heavily on his shoulder.

"Ryan." It was a command, and in spite of himself, Ryan leaped forward.

It was as if the simple act of moving released him from the shock that had frozen his brain and his body. He rushed after his father. He caught them as they were almost even with the BBQ pit.

"Dad, what are you doing? What do you want?" He grabbed the arm that was holding Seth and pulled.

Dave Atwood let go of Seth, and in one fluid motion turned, swinging a fist that connected with a sickening thud on Ryan's jaw. Completely unprepared, Ryan staggered back throwing up his hands to try to protect himself. Dave followed the first punch with a second blow that easily evaded Ryan's guard, dropping him to the ground. Still reeling from the surprise of his father's appearance and caught off-guard after nine months of the relative safety of Newport, Ryan was done before he started. His father was on top of him, fists pounding and pounding and pounding.

Behind the roaring in his ears and the pain and the helplessness, Ryan could hear Seth, yelling first, then cut off abruptly; the sound of male voices, his father's companions, angry, harsh. But the fists kept on and Ryan could only try to protect himself as best he could.

Finally, it was over. It took Ryan awhile to realize his father had stopped hitting him because the pounding of his heart and his head and his blood continued to echo the blows as they'd fallen.

A hand grabbed him under his arm and yanked him to his feet. Ryan tried to stifle the groan of pain as he was thrust toward the main house. Staggering into the kitchen area, he grabbed onto the island counter, trying to keep from falling to the ground.

"Ryan!" Seth's voice was close to a sob. Struggling to get free of the man who was holding him, Seth strained toward Ryan.

"Don't you touch him, boy." Dave Atwood shoved Seth and his captor back toward the television room. "Stay away from him."

Ryan's fingers lost their grip on the counter, and he fell to the floor, leaning heavily against the island, trying to catch his breath. He pressed his cheek against the smooth paint of the cabinet door. _Don't pass out_, he thought hazily. _Seth. Don't pass out._

"Ryan!" He could hear Seth calling to him, frightened and confused. He felt a hand on his elbow, groaned as he was pulled to his feet; Seth again, desperate, "Leave him alone!" Sounds of a scuffle, and a muffled cry.

"Leave him alone!" Breathless fury now from Seth, as Dave pushed Ryan against the kitchen counter, twisting an arm behind his back until his son cried out in pain.

"Are we done?" Dave snarled, yanking Ryan's elbow higher.

"Yes," Ryan screamed, sobbing as something shifted and snapped and fire lanced up his arm.

"Good." Dave released him abruptly, stepping way. Ryan collapsed onto the counter, gasping for breath, struggling to stay standing. He paused, shuddering. Gingerly, he maneuvered his arm to a place where he could cradle it against his chest, faltering, vision going gray at the pain. Turning slowly, still using the cabinets to stay upright, he cast a quick glace at Seth who stood, pale and trembling, on the edge of the kitchen, held in a vice-like grip by one of Dave Atwood's compatriots.

"Done?" Seth's voice was incredulous. "Done with what? He didn't…."

"Seth, shut up," he gritted. Ryan was desperate for Seth to be quiet. He took a halting step toward Seth. "Don't."

But it was too late. Dave Atwood turned thoughtful eyes to Seth. He walked slowly up to the slim boy. Seth tried to take a step back, but the man holding his arm was unyielding.

"I'm sorry." Dave's voice was very soft. "What did you say?"

"Seth," Ryan whispered. _God, please._

Seth looked into the face of Ryan's father and saw his friend's mouth, his nose reflected there. But the eyes were not Ryan's. They were cold and hard and full of a hate Seth had never known before.

"I… " Seth swallowed hard, but pressed on. "I don't understand what he did wrong." Seth's voice felt like it had dried up completely. "Why would you hurt him like that?" he asked hoarsely. Seth didn't know where this boldness had come from; he was terrified, but he wouldn't let this man get away with hurting Ryan.

Dave put a hand on Seth's shoulder, and the boy flinched, averting his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the presence of the man in front of him. He cast around for Ryan, and caught his gaze across the room. Ryan was frozen, hunched over his injured arm, eyes wide.

"Ryan knows the rules, don't you, Ry?" Dave's voice was almost gentle, and Ryan was suddenly deafened by the sound of his blood pounding his ears; he couldn't breathe. Jerkily, he nodded his head, eyes trapped by his father's. "Why don't you explain them to your… friend?"

Ryan struggled to shape the words. "No talking back," he whispered.

Dave nodded. "That's right." He looked at Seth. "Do your parents let you give them lip like that? Let you question their authority?" He asked it reasonably, but the look in Dave's eyes stole Seth's voice. Seth stared helplessly, silently at Ryan's father.

Dave continued to watch Seth even as he addressed his next question to Ryan. "Son, do you remember the consequence of trying to interfere with me when I'm disciplining one of my boys?"

Seth's heart started to hammer violently in his chest and his eyes went to Ryan. He would not have thought it was possible for Ryan to get any paler, but the other boy turned so white he looked almost translucent. Seth was sure he was about to pass out.

Now, Dave looked at his son. "Well, he didn't know the rules, did he? Maybe this first time, we can go back to the original punishment. I'm betting it will go a long way with this one."

"Dad, please." Ryan stepped forward, panic in his voice. "I don't care. Please. Don't. I can take it. He…"

Dave ignored Ryan's pleas, and turned back to Seth.

"When Ryan and his brother were young, Trey always tried to get between me and Ryan when the boy needed a licking. Every time he did, I beat that kid until he couldn't stand up, but it never made a difference. He did the same damn thing every time." He looked at Ryan who had moved a couple of careful steps toward his father.

"But, you know what I finally figured out? The dumb little bastard _wanted_ me to hit him. Trey was taking my attention off the real issue – Ryan. So you know what I did the next time?"

In a daze, Seth shook his head.

"The next time Trey got in my way, I beat Ryan until _he_ couldn't stand up. And Trey I didn't lay a finger on. Every time Trey tried to get between us, Ryan suffered the consequences. Didn't you, Ryan?"

Ryan had come to a stop just out of his father's reach. His eyes went desperately from Seth to his father, trying to figure out how to stop what was going to happen.

"Trey learned." He looked at Seth consideringly, "By rights, the beating should be Ryan's since you tried to get in my way."

Seth was paralyzed – this couldn't be happening. This man couldn't… "I…" Seth stammered, looking at Ryan, eyes wide with shock.

"Dad…"

"But, since you didn't know how things work, the beating will be yours."

Dave clamped a hand hard on Seth's shoulder and watched with satisfaction as the blood drained out of the boy's face.

"Dad, please." Ryan's voice was shaking from urgency and fear. "Seth doesn't…. The Cohens don't…." There were no words to describe the overwhelming sense of nightmare that Ryan was trapped in. He was beyond knowing the right thing to do, how to stop this. Seth was being hurt because of him and he couldn't fix it.

"The Cohens have been good to me. Please don't hurt him. Please." He was begging, voice broken.

Dave turned to his son, and Ryan stopped, swaying, poised to defend Seth. It would be useless, but he would do it.

"They been good to you?"

Haltingly, Ryan nodded his head.

Dave's eyes hardened almost imperceptibly and Ryan braced himself.

"They make you think you're special?" His voice was laced with contempt as he let go of Seth and shoved Ryan. Ryan gasped at the pain in his arm when Dave hit him, and he staggered back. "They make you think you're better than your old man?" Dave pushed him again, hard. Ryan fell back a couple of steps, still clutching his arm, face white with pain and fear.

"Dad, no."

Dave drove Ryan back against the French doors and grabbing a hold of Ryan's injured arm, twisted until Ryan sobbed, crumpling in his father's grasp. He put his face so close to Ryan's their noses almost touched.

"You're mine. My kid," he snarled. "And they can't have you."

He turned suddenly and barked at his partners. "We're getting out of here."

xxxx

The door slammed shut behind them and Ryan heard his father wedge a chair under the knob, trapping them. Ryan sagged against the wall, sinking to the floor. Seth joined him, and they sat shoulder to shoulder in silence.

Ryan couldn't think beyond the throbbing pain in his arm, and the paralyzing fear of what his father was going to do with them when he was done ransacking the house. He held his arm close to his chest, only vaguely aware of Seth next to him. Ryan's head dropped, as he drew his knees carefully up to his chest, helping to steady his aching arm. He put his forehead on his knees and wondered distantly what he was supposed to do. He knew he should be doing something, but he didn't know what. It felt kind of like cotton had wrapped its way around his brain and his body and all he wanted to do was sink into it and be done; without realizing it, he moved closer to Seth, leaning against him, unconsciously seeking what comfort he could from Seth's presence.

Seth wrapped his arms tightly around his legs, pressing his eyes against his knees. He was shaking with an emotion he didn't recognize. He knew he was scared – he recognized that feeling. He knew he'd never been this scared, but the shaking was coming from something else.

He felt Ryan press closer to him, and the surge of fury he felt left him breathless. It was rage, he realized suddenly. An overwhelming anger at what Ryan had been forced to endure at the hands of the man on the other side of the door, at the hands of Dawn, at the hands of her boyfriends – every hurt, every humiliation, every terror.

Seth trembled with the power of it.

Until tonight, Ryan's life before he came to Newport had been mostly theoretical to Seth. The few times Ryan talked about his family – his mother's drunkenness, getting his ass kicked – Seth had always faltered, unsure. There would be a brief wrinkle in the tough guy image Ryan cultivated, a shimmer that exposed, however briefly, the truth lying underneath; but almost as soon as it came, it was gone. And Ryan would become again the cool, confident friend Seth idolized. Seth had never looked for more, never wanted it. It was easier to see only what Ryan wanted him to see – to believe the image, and not risk being disappointed in the reality.

Tonight had shattered the image forever. Seth had seen Ryan exposed – heartbreakingly fragile, so deeply wounded that it stunned Seth – and what he felt was not disappointment, but a rush of protectiveness that took him by surprise in its intensity. Seth put his chin on his knees and turned his head to look at Ryan, huddled and shivering against him. He didn't think he'd ever felt protective of anyone else in his life. Of his stuff, sure. But of another person? He didn't think so. He guessed he'd probably feel protective of his parents if they really needed it, but he didn't think they ever had. Not the way he realized now that Ryan did.

Sighing, Ryan, his mask tenuously back in place, opened his eyes and stared at Seth.

"When he finishes, he'll go," he said quietly, wanting to comfort Seth. Ryan wondered if saying it out loud would make it true.

"That's good, then. It's just stuff, Ryan. It doesn't matter. If he goes…"

"He'll take me with him." Ryan said it tonelessly, voice exhausted. The mask wavered and slipped again. He turned hopeless eyes to Seth. "He won't let me go."

Seth's throat went dry. He swallowed hard, and then, surprisingly, felt the anger rise in his chest again – misdirected this time at Ryan.

"And you think we will?" he asked fiercely. He felt Ryan flinch at his tone, and tried to steady himself. Seth drew in a deep breath, deliberately, carefully forcing himself to calm down.

He tried again. "You think if he takes you that Mom and Dad will let you go?" Seth kept his voice low, but even its gentleness thrummed with the intensity of his emotion.

Dazed with pain and shock, Ryan blinked at the question. Seth watched him struggle with the answer.

"If he takes you, we'll find you," he said softly. "We won't let you go, either." His voice was hard. It was a promise.

Ryan stared at Seth, feeling his heart clench, tears of desperation starting into his eyes. Seth's gaze was unyielding.

And haltingly Ryan nodded, believing.

_TBC_


	2. ch 2

_Thank you so much for the reviews. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update – real life intervened. And I find I don't like writing mean, hateful people. That made it slow going._

_I'm rating this part R for disturbing images._

_xxxx_

"_In this scene set in shadows, like the night is here to stay, there is evil cast around us…"_

_David Wilcox  
_

xxxx

"You issued an Amber Alert?" The reporters were all shouting at the police chief as she stood at the podium.

The Chief held her hand up, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of voices.

"For a 17-year-old male? Isn't that a little unusual?"

"Ryan Atwood is a minor child who was taken violently from his home. That he's 17 and a boy, don't change those facts."

"Given Ryan's history, have you considered that he's a runaway?"

Grace Harvey was smart and driven and didn't suffer fools gladly.

"Of course we considered that," she snapped. "Any time a child goes missing, that's a possibility. Ryan's background and the fact that the abductor is his biological father were certainly factors that we considered. But given the statement from his foster brother, the condition of the house, and other physical evidence, we are confident that Ryan was taken against his will and is in considerable danger from his father."

In clipped, professional tones she ran through the little information they had that had been released as part of the alert. A description of Ryan, the extent of his injuries as they knew them, what he'd been wearing at the time he'd been taken, and mugshots of the three men who had been part of the invasion.

"We ask that all citizens of California be on the look out for this child and the men who took him. If you have any information at all, please call the contact number. Thank you."

xxxx

_If he takes you, we'll find you_. _We won't let you go._

Ryan repeated the words until there was nothing else.

Sandy would find him.

Kirsten would never let him go.

Seth….

Ryan scrunched his eyes closed, refusing to open them; refusing to acknowledge anything other that the truth of the words.

_If he takes you, we'll find you_.

_We won't let you go._

xxxx

The call had come as they were headed to breakfast. Newport police telling them Seth was in the hospital, that Ryan had been kidnapped. Frantic calls, a car ride home that Sandy no longer remembered, the hospital, Seth beaten and inconsolable, sharp questions, and a feeling that he was being slowly, inexorably suffocated.

Kirsten had stayed with Seth, while Sandy had tried to deal with police and media. Caleb had arrived at the hospital first, taking charge of Seth until his parents had arrived. He'd given Kirsten a hug, shaken Sandy's hand and left, grim faced, to deal with the security company for the development. When he found out how these men had invaded his daughter's home and hurt his grandchild, there would be hell to pay.

Sandy's conversation with the police had been horrific. Listening to the sound of Seth's broken, frightened voice on the 911 tape had almost undone him, and the recitation of Ryan's suspected injuries, added to the revelation that the boy's father had a history of brutal behavior while he was in prison and become associated with one of the white supremicist groups that seemed to flourish there had staggered Sandy.

"Why the _hell_ weren't we notified that this man was out?" Sandy yelled. "How could you fail to let us know that this psychopath was out of jail?"

"Sandy, please." The officer made an attempt to sound reasonable, to sound like Sandy was the one being unreasonable. Sandy turned furious, devastated eyes to the man standing across from him, and Tom Curtis dropped his own.

"Shit, Sandy." He put his head in his hands. "We notify victims of their abuser's release. Dave Atwood was arrested for armed robbery, not domestic violence. We just didn't know that you needed to be notified." Tom scrubbed his hands over his face. "We figure most cons are headed home to their families. If they've still got 'em. We didn't know. There's nothing in the file."

xxxx

_If he takes you, we'll find you_.

Ryan crouched on the floor of the car where he'd been shoved, knees drawn up, cradling his arm, trying to follow the conversation among the men in the vehicle. He couldn't concentrate for long and he only got pieces. He recognized anger and frustration in their tones. He heard words that confused him and frightened him. But he couldn't put it all together.

"… mine…"

"…cabin…"

"… Jew…"

"…hate…"

"…kill…."

Ryan struggled to make sense of what he was hearing, but the pain and the terror were throbbing too loudly in his ears and in his head. He closed his eyes and reached for the words.

Whispering them, humming them, chanting them.

_We won't let you go._

xxxx

They'd sent him home for something. An insurance card, Ryan's file, clothes for Kirsten. He couldn't remember. All he could see was blood on the floor.

He'd walked into the house the day after, stepping gingerly over police tape, dazed, dropping his keys in his pocket as he'd walked in the door. The devastation had taken him by surprise. Every table, every chair, every piece of furniture had been upturned. Windows were broken, vases shattered. Sandy walked, stunned, through the living room, picking his way carefully through the wreckage.

As he'd entered the kitchen, he'd closed the refrigerator doors that were standing open, grimacing at the food spilled onto the floor. That was when he'd seen it – the blood – smeared on the kitchen cabinets – where Ryan had tried to hold himself upright – pooled on the floor of the family room – where Seth had lain after Dave Atwood had finished his work.

Sandy swallowed, reeling. He leaned against the counter, gasping from the horror of the scene that was playing itself out in his imagination. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the scene out of his mind. _He couldn't do this right now._

"Sandy?" The gentle sound of Rosa's softly accented English turned him around. She stood, stricken at the threshold of the kitchen.

"Rosa." He reached out to her. "We didn't call." He took an unsteady breath. "I'm so sorry…"

She was shaking her head. "No, Sandy. Please." She drew him into an embrace, and Sandy pulled her close. His relationship with Rosa over the years had always been cordial, distantly affectionate, but to Sandy now, after a day of comfort offered by strangers and a wife who was as desolated and lost as he was, the arms of this woman who loved his children and knew his grief were a welcome rest.

"I called my girls to come help me clean up." She said it gently, pulling back, eyes drifting to the cabinets.

"She won't have to see this."

xxxx

Ryan was wakened by another hand, this one grabbing him by the t-shirt, pulling him up, out of the car. Ryan stumbled after his captor, unsure in the dim light of dawn, which way they were headed. He could see his father in the lead, surging ahead down what seemed to be a path in the mountains. Barefoot, Ryan staggered over a rock, crying out in pain and surprise as he went down.

"Keep him quiet." His father's order traveling clearly from the front of the line.

"I'll take him, Joe." A soft voice in the grayness, and the switching of places among his father's men.

"Come on." There was a hand under his good elbow and an arm around his waist. Ryan got slowly to his feet, walking gingerly now, supported by the other man.

Ryan didn't know how long they walked. It was all he could do to keep on his feet, forcing himself to take each step along the path that took him further and further away from home.

_If he takes you, we'll find you_.

xxxx

"Dad?" Seth's voice came softly out of the dark, and Sandy moved toward the bed.

"Hey, buddy." Sandy's voice broke as he reached out to smooth the hair back off his son's forehead.

"Ryan?"

Seth asked every time he surfaced.

"Still nothing, honey."

"Dad …." He rolled over awkwardly to face his father, and Sandy leaned closer. Seth was more alert than he'd been since his parents had arrived. Sandy thought distractedly that Kirsten was going to be disappointed that she hadn't been here.

"Yeah?" Sandy threaded his fingers through Seth's tumbled curls.

"He was so scared," he whispered, eyes full of grief. "Dad, he…." Seth couldn't go on, choking, starting to cry.

Sandy climbed into the bed, gathering his sobbing child into his arms.

"We'll find him, Seth," he soothed. "We'll find him."

xxxx

_We'll never let you go._

Ryan curled into a ball, drifting out of an uneasy sleep. He blinked groggily around, feeling the rumble of hunger in his stomach, the shudder of answering nausea at the thought of food. Awkwardly, he pushed himself in a sitting position, listening for the sound of voices elsewhere in the house.

He thought they'd been there a few of days, although he couldn't be sure. His memory was hazy, pain dulling all sense of time as he faded in and out of awareness.

Ryan heard footsteps, felt them in the floor boards, and he stiffened, bracing himself against the wall. He put his back into the corner, and faced his father when the man strode into the room.

Dave looked scornfully at the boy on the floor. "Nice nap?"

Ryan stared stonily back at him, refusing to be baited, even as he tried not to fade out again. He wondered vaguely where the fear of his father had gone. He was frightened – of the situation, of the strange angry men who held him – but the crippling terror of the man in front of him was missing. He wasn't sure why.

Dave tossed a sandwich to Ryan, grinning when his son didn't make any attempt to catch it before it landed by his knee.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning."

"Where are we going?" Ryan's voice was a whisper, hoarse.

"Hooking up with some guys I know."

Ryan trembled as a chill shook him, and he huddled closer in on himself. "Where?"

"None of your goddamn business. You'll go where I go."

"Why?"

"What?" Dave's voice was a snap, daring his son to question him.

"Why?" Ryan asked again. "Why do you want me with you? You've never wanted me before." He was so tired and he hurt so bad and he didn't understand.

"Because you're mine, that's why. Not theirs." He snorted. "And if you think _they_ want you, you're even dumber than I thought."

"They do want me," Ryan said, softly, surely. He met his father's eyes.

Dave gave a bark of laughter. "You think?" He crouched down until he was eye level with Ryan. "I'll tell you what I think. I think that Jew-boy you've been livin' with cried like a little girl when I beat the crap out of him, and I think his Jew daddy's gonna hide in a hole, pissin' himself, just glad he don't ever have to deal with you again." He put his hand to Ryan's neck, resting it there, threatening. "That's what I think."

Ryan shrank back, head pressed into the corner, grief and rage spilling tears out of his eyes and down his cheeks.

"They won't let me go."

Dave tightened the hand around his son's throat, cutting off Ryan's breath. He raised an eyebrow at the boy, whose eyes didn't waver.

"They won't," Ryan managed.

The fingers constricted slowly and Ryan struggled to draw a breath. Suddenly, his father released him, stood up, took a step back. The strange enigmatic smile that had always made his sons' blood run cold touched his face as he looked at Ryan. For a long minute the two stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to back down. Finally, Dave laughed again, turning his back on his son.

"If he comes, will you let me go?" Ryan whispered it, forcing himself to ask the question.

Dave stopped in the doorway, paused, considered. Ryan felt his heart pounding, wondering, hoping. Slowly, Dave Atwood turned.

"If he comes, I'll let you go."

xxxx

There was a soft knock on the bedroom door.

"Sandy?"

Sandy looked up from the paper he'd been staring at sightlessly for the last 15 minutes. It was a story about Ryan's kidnapping, but he'd been unable to get past the first sentence. He cast a quick glance at Kirsten, curled up asleep in their bed. Next to her Seth was curled in a mirror image of his mother, face bruised, also sleeping.

Sandy stood slowly. He felt like he'd aged 50 years in the past four days. He opened the door, looking a question at the FBI agent waiting for him.

"We've found them."


	3. ch 3

_Fathers and Sons, pt. 3_

"… _but it's love that wrote the play, for in this darkness love can show the way." - __David Wilcox_

"_Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13.  
_

xxxx

"_We've found them."_

The agent's grim face had alerted Sandy to the fact that in spite of the seemingly good news, something was not right. He'd woken Kirsten, and they'd left Seth sleeping soundly in their room.

As they started down the stairs toward the kitchen, Special Agent in Charge Jack Martin began in a low tone, "There's a cabin in the Sierra Madres they've holed up in. Couple of boys out skippin' school came across them a couple of days ago. One of the kids finally cracked – he was afraid to tell his parents, but his conscience ultimately caught up with him."

Sandy nodded numbly, hoping that his foggy brain would clear and he'd be able to process this rationally.

Kirsten asked eagerly, "Is he OK? Do we have him back?"

"No, we don't have him." Jack shook his head.

"I don't know if he's OK, Kirsten. I'm sorry." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "We have a problem, actually. Local p.d. couldn't leave well enough alone, and they went out there, trying to be heroes. Atwood and his men killed one of them; wounded another." He looked over at Sandy. "We're in a stand off."

"What?" Sandy was incredulous. "Jack…"

"I'm sorry."

"What does that mean? What's being done?" Kirsten had paled, clutching Sandy's hand as they went into the kitchen.

Sandy's eyes were fixed on the open face of the man he'd known for almost 20 years. He and Jack Martin had been on opposite sides of almost every issue in law school – Sandy, the son of a Jewish social worker from the Bronx, Jack, the son of a Baptist preacher from Birmingham, Alabama . But the two young men had personified Shakespeare's words in _The Taming of the Shrew_, "And do as adversaries do in law, strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends." In spite of their differences, Sandy and Jack had trusted each other, believed in one another's integrity, understood the other's convictions.

Ultimately their shared passion for justice had led them to different sides of the law. Sandy had chosen public defense, Jack prosecution. But their friendship had remained steady if distant over the years.

Jack's career had taken him to the FBI after years as a federal prosecutor. He'd risen to the rank of Assistant Director in charge of domestic terrorism. Ryan's case had landed on his desk because of the tie with three ex-cons associated with one of the hate groups his office tracked. When he'd seen Sandy's name listed as guardian – seen the Chrismukkah picture he still had on his refrigerator with the Cohens' grins, Ryan's shy, somehow wondering smile – Jack had been on the next plane to California to oversee things personally.

"Sandy." Jack put a hand on his friend's elbow, steering him and Kirsten to the kitchen table. He looked at one of the agents, leaning against a counter. "Coffee?" Nodding, the man poured two cups and set them in front of the Cohens, who had obediently sat down in the chairs Jack pulled out for them. Hands shaking, Sandy cradled the mug.

"What do we do?" He looked at Kirsten's drawn face and back at his friend.

"I'm headed out there right now."

"I'm coming with you."

"Sandy…"

"Jack, if you think I'm going to sit here and wait when we know where he is, when I can be there, you…"

"Agent Martin?"

Jack transferred his disturbed scowl from Sandy to the young woman standing in the doorway.

"What, Agent Bristow?" he snapped.

"Could I…?" she held a cell phone in her hand, and motioned with her head toward the living room.

Sighing, he stood. "I'll be right back. Sandy, I don't think it's a good idea for you to come. Kirsten, would you please…?" He trailed off, asking with his eyes for her to talk sense to her husband. Kirsten's own eyes were non-committal.

Sandy reached for Kirsten, pulling her out of her chair, into his arms. He held her for a long minute, gaining strength from the feel of her.

"I can't not go," he whispered.

"I know," she said, pressing her face into his neck.

They looked up when Jack re-entered the room.

"Dave Atwood has asked for you."

xxxx

He'd heard cursing and gunfire, the sound of something hitting the walls, and sluggishly, he'd pulled himself tighter into a ball, still huddled in the corner he'd been consigned to days before. He didn't know what was happening, but the chaos around him had him instinctively trying to make himself smaller, to remove himself from whatever was going on around him.

Ryan knew that he was in bad shape. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the last bit of awareness that he was clinging to told him he was almost done. He was no longer sure what was real and what was imagined in this hell he'd found himself in.

The words _if he takes you _he knew _we'll find you_ were real _we won't let you go_; but it was harder and harder to hold on to them – they slipped out of his grasp, evaded him, danced, sometimes, just out of reach, taunting him.

But somehow _we'll find you _when he forgot _we won't let you go_ even then _we'll find you_ he knew they were true. But it was getting so hard.

Now, the noise was over and Ryan felt, again, a hand on his shoulder, lifting him up, someone telling him to stand. He struggled, stumbled, was held, supported.

"Because, God damn it, he's going to be in the way out here, Dave." Billy, Ryan thought, muzzily. "I'm putting him in the back room."

His father said something harsh.

"You gonna be sleepin' a lot, now that the cops are on to us?" Billy spat. "You don't need the goddamn bed."

Ryan felt himself propelled forward, went where he was directed.

"Here." Ryan stopped, sat unsteadily, was lowered onto a mattress, felt his legs lifted, placed on the bed. He curled into a ball, tight against the headboard. Something soft covered him, and Ryan clutched it, pulling the blanket close. A hand brushing his forehead, ice cold against its heat, a sigh. The sound of the door clicking shut. And he was alone.

_We'llfindyouwe'llfindyouwe'llfindyouwe'llfindyouwe'llfindyouwe'llfindyouwe'llfindyou._

_Wewon'tletyougo._

xxxx

"Sandy, you know what this man believes. You can't put yourself in his hands." Jack's eyes went to Kirsten, white-faced and frozen by the sink. "He'll kill you."

Sandy looked at his wife where she'd fled out of his arms after Jack's announcement. She stood stiffly, arms crossed over her chest, staring out the window toward the pool house.

"We don't know that, Jack," he said softly, eyes never leaving Kirsten's still frame.

"Yes, we do, Sandy. We do know that. Let us handle this. This guy hates you for just being you. Never mind your connection to his son…."

"He's our son." Kirsten's soft voice stopped Jack cold.

She turned.

Her eyes when they met Sandy's were tragic. She knew the risk; knew there was a possibility she was trading Sandy for Ryan. But they had no choice.

"Bring him home, Sandy."

He crossed the room to her. Drew her close. "Bring him home."

xxxx

They'd told Seth only that Sandy was going with Jack to follow a lead.

There was something in his parents' somberness that frightened Seth. "You're not identifying a body or something, are you?" Seth was pale, bruises standing out starkly on his cheeks.

"Oh, baby, no." Kirsten hurried to wrap her arms around Seth. "It's nothing like that, sweetie. Daddy's just going to help Jack with something." She ran comforting hands up and down his back. "You don't need to worry, sweetie. Everything's going to be OK."

Seth nodded against his mother's neck, too overwhelmed to do anything but take her at her word. After a long moment, he raised his head and put his chin on her shoulder, watched his father with solemn brown eyes. Sandy moved forward, putting his arms around his wife and his son. _Everything's going to be OK_.

xxxx

"Here."

Sandy took back the shirt that he'd surrendered to the technical people just a few moments before. Awkwardly, he shrugged back into it.

"We've sewn a mic into the collar here." The young man in riot gear touched the spot briefly. "We'll be able to pick up you and anyone within a 20 foot radius."

"Will I be able to hear you?" Sandy worked on the buttons, his hands not quite steady.

Jack shook his head, eyes unhappy as the agents prepped Sandy to go into the cabin.

"There's no way they'll detect the mic, but if you have something in your ear, we're afraid it will give you away. Sandy…"

"Seriously?" Sandy raised his voice to override his friend. "I watch _Alias_. Don't you guys have any of those cool gadgets?"

There was a round of polite chuckles.

"That's the CIA, dude," the young man helping him snickered. A smack on the back of the head by his supervisor straightened him out. "I mean, sir," he corrected.

Sandy grinned at the kid, slapping him on the back. Jack shook his head. "Yeah. Does Jones here look like Jennifer Garner?"

They shared a moment of easy camaraderie. And then the pall settled again.

"You ready?" Jack asked softly.

Sandy nodded. "Let's go."

xxxx

The door opened slightly.

"Cohen?"

Sandy nodded, unable to see anything at all through the slender crack that opened into the dark house.

The door swung the rest of the way open, and Sandy stepped in.

xxxx

He'd been patted down roughly and pushed up against the wall. Sandy struggled to make out the man in front of him, but it was too dark. He was managing to keep his breathing steady, though he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

"Where's Ryan?" Sandy was relieved – his voice was even, too.

Silence.

"Where is he?" The anger that had been boiling, unseen by anyone for almost a week, began to spill over. "Where is my son?" The question came out of his mouth without thought, frustration and fear making him careless.

"Your son?" The voice came from Sandy's right. Not from the man who held him now, who had searched him. Sandy swiveled his head in the direction of the voice. He forced himself to relax.

"Where's Ryan?" he asked again, calmer. He would not get into a pissing contest with this unseen man who was probably Ryan's father. Not now. Not yet. He locked his rage down again, willing himself to wait.

There was another long pause.

"He's in the back."

If there was a gesture, Sandy didn't see it, but the hand that had been flat against his chest, holding him against the wall, suddenly gripped his shirt and pulled him forward, leading him deeper into the house.

When they stopped, Sandy's eyes had adjusted some to the dark, and he could make out a pale line on the floor, the gray light from another room seeping out from under a door. The door swung open, and Sandy was pushed into the room. The door closed sharply behind him. Heart beating wildly, Sandy stood frozen, listening, trying to get his bearings.

He groped to his left, hoping for a light switch and heard the rustle of cloth against cloth somewhere in front of him and the soft uneven sound of a breath being drawn.

He stopped, ears straining.

"Ryan?" he whispered.

"Sandy…" Ryan's voice was disoriented, weak.

"Thank God," Sandy breathed, crossing the space in three long strides, reaching the bed that he could just make out now in the pale light. He crouched at the bedside, looking for a lamp, anything that would let him see.

Finally, Sandy noticed the lamp on the bedside table and he reached under the shade, fumbling for the switch, even as he reached out with his other hand toward Ryan.

"It's OK, sweetheart," he soothed, voice starting to shake.

Sandy's clumsy fingers managed to manipulate the knob on the lamp and a gentle light flooded the room.

Sandy drew in a sharp breath at the sight of Ryan. Even listening to the tape of Seth's statement to the police had not prepared him for the battered child in front of him. Sandy touched Ryan's cheek, his shoulder, wondered distantly if Dave had continued to beat Ryan after they'd left the house, if that would account for the damage.

Or if the man had done this while Ryan had been at Sandy's house, under his protection, where he'd thought his children were safe. Had he'd failed so miserably to provide a place where his sons could live without fear of being hurt like this?

Ryan was crouched against the headboard, and he blinked groggily at Sandy. His blue eyes were glazed and jewel bright against his flushed cheeks. It was hard to tell how much of the redness burnishing his skin was from the fever and how much was from contact with his father's fists. One eye was swelled mostly closed, and his lower lip had been split it a couple of places. Sandy reached out a hand to cup Ryan's cheek, wincing at the heat the boy was giving off.

Sandy ran his eyes quickly over Ryan, looking for more injuries. He knew the right arm was going to be a problem, and he gently eased off the blanket Ryan had wrapped around his shoulders. Ryan was wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants he'd gone to bed in six nights before. He was holding the arm loosely to his chest. Sandy felt like ice slipped down his spine when he saw the swollen, distorted limb. Sandy's eyes went swiftly back to Ryan's face.

Ryan had submitted to the inspection without making a sound, his eyes slowly tracking Sandy's every movement. When Sandy looked at Ryan again, he was unsure, frankly, whether the boy could be fully aware that he was there. Sandy didn't see how it would be possible given the pain Ryan must be in. But blue gaze was steady, if slightly unfocused.

"I knew you'd come," Ryan said softly, eyes unwavering on Sandy's. "Seth said you'd come."

The look in Ryan's eyes was one Sandy recognized. It was an expression he remembered from the "catch me" phase Seth had gone through when he was about five. It was the look Seth had always worn just before he launched himself off the wall, the chair, the side of the pool – the look he had as he cried, "Daddy, catch me!" trusting that Sandy would be there, that his arms would keep him from falling, that his father would snatch him out of the air and save him from any hurt. It was the expression he'd seen in Seth's eyes just hours before when he'd clung to Sandy, when he'd looked at his father and said brokenly, "I told him we'd find him."

Sandy had only been able to nod, and hold Seth tightly to him. He'd felt Seth relax against him, fingers clutching at Sandy's shirt, trusting as always that his father would make things right.

Now it was Ryan he clung to. And Ryan, unable to lift his arms to return the embrace, who pressed his face into Sandy's chest, inhaling the scent of this man who was the only father he'd ever known – Old Spice and salt and something indefinably Sandy. Ryan breathed in, the comfort and safety of Sandy's presence washing over him.

"I'm here, kid," Sandy whispered, his voice unsteady, smoothing his hand over Ryan's head. "I'm here." He felt Ryan shudder against him, and Sandy closed his eyes, carefully drawing him deeper into his arms, wishing desperately that he could protect the boy from any more contact with the man at the front of the house. Sandy held on as tightly as he dared, taking a moment to get himself under control.

Steady again, Sandy kissed Ryan on the temple, pulled back, pushing damp hair off his forehead. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you out of here."

xxxx

It had taken Sandy several minutes to figure out how exactly to get Ryan out of the room. He'd started to pick him up, but Ryan had resisted, conscious even in his feverish state that Dave Atwood would see that as weakness. He wouldn't be carried. So, Sandy had eased him off the bed, steadied him until Ryan regained his equilibrium, and they'd made their way slowly to the front of the house. It was all Sandy could do not to disregard Ryan's pride and pick the boy up, but he didn't. Instead, he walked carefully, taking as much of Ryan's weight as he could.

Just before they reached the front room, Sandy slowed, bracing for the confrontation he knew was coming.

"Don't worry, Ryan," he said, glancing quickly at the boy. "I'll take care of everything, OK?" Ryan nodded at Sandy, eyes exhausted, trusting.

The room seemed lighter to Sandy as they entered. He could actually see the men who had invaded his home, hurt his children, as the ex-cons moved restlessly around the room. He paused, shifting his hold on Ryan slightly. He waited.

The man at the window turned, watched. Sandy focused his attention on him, sure that this was Dave Atwood.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Sandy felt Ryan flinch against him, and Sandy tightened his grip almost imperceptibly, trying to reassure him.

"I'm taking him home."

"Like hell you are."

"Why did you get me up here, if not to take him?" Sandy asked angrily, although he suspected the answer.

"You ain't taking him."

"Dad…" Ryan's hoarse voice captured the attention of both men.

He raised hot eyes to the man across the room.

"You said if he came… You said…" Ryan struggled to form the sentence through the haze, around a tongue that felt twice its normal size. "You said you'd let me go… if he came." Ryan pulled himself as straight he could. "You said you'd let me go," he insisted.

Sandy's eyes went sharply to Dave Atwood and back to Ryan, wondering what made the boy think his father would keep his word after everything that had happened.

The man staring at them didn't shift his gaze from Ryan's face. He let the silence stretch out, expression immobile.

"You can go." Dave Atwood turned hard eyes on Sandy. "If he stays."

Sandy's blood chilled at the hatred in the words. But he didn't flinch.

"No." Stunned, Ryan blinked at his father, turned frantic, stricken eyes to Sandy.

"Nonononononononononono…" Ryan's voice started as a disbelieving whisper and turned into a wail, hysteria rising with every word.

"OK." Sandy said it firmly, surely, voice pitched above Ryan's cries, seemingly unfazed by the boy next to him.

"NO!" Ryan yelled it, terrified. "Sandy, no, you can't. He'll… " Ryan couldn't continue. He couldn't say it. "Sandy, please…" Ryan turned desperately to his father. "Dad, I'll stay, I…"

"It's done, Ryan." Sandy's tone brooked no argument. His eyes met Dave's.

"Sandy, …" Sandy could hear the hear the despair, raw, in Ryan's voice.

"It's done." Sandy took Ryan's chin in his hand, heedless of the man watching, looking into the shattered, knowing eyes of the boy in front of him. "I'm staying."

Ryan sagged in Sandy's arms, knees buckling as the adrenaline subsided, and Sandy caught him, whispering in the boy's ear as he bore him to the ground, "It'll be OK, Ryan. It'll be OK."

Sandy held him briefly, even as Ryan started to shake, moving his head back and forth in denial.

"Sandy, no. Please…"

"This is what dads do, Ryan," Sandy said, softly, only for his son. He pulled back, putting both hands to Ryan's cheeks. "This is what dads do."

Tears coursing down his cheeks, Ryan could only stare at Sandy, exhaustion and pain and hopelessness finally defeating him. "Sandy," he whispered.

"Listen to me, OK?" Sandy wiped his thumbs over Ryan's cheeks, trying to dry the dampness. Dazed, Ryan blinked sluggishly, shock taking hold as he struggled to obey.

Sandy leaned close. "I love you. And nothing, no matter what happens, is ever going to change that. Do you hear me?"

Eyes trapped by Sandy's, Ryan nodded haltingly.

"He'll kill you," he whispered, unable to stop himself, even as he knew Sandy would never willingly leave him here.

Sandy's gaze didn't falter. He recognized the possibility, had from the beginning. And it was a sacrifice he would make without hesitation.

Sandy cast a quick glance at Dave and wondered how much longer the man would tolerate this whispered conversation; wondered how much Jack and his agents were hearing.

Sandy's hands came down to Ryan's shoulders. "Trust me, OK, kiddo?" He gave him the gentlest of shakes. "Can you do that for me? Will you trust me on this?"

Ryan's eyes slid to Dave and back to Sandy. He stared at Sandy, heart broken, and then slowly, painfully, he nodded.

Sandy stood, maneuvered Ryan to his feet.

"He's going," Sandy said. "I'm staying."

xxxx

_SHOW THE WAY by David Wilcox _

You say you see no hope, you say you see no reason  
We should dream that the world would ever change  
You're saying love is foolish to believe  
'Cause there'll always be some crazy with an army or a knife  
To wake you from your day dream, put the fear back in your life...

Look, if someone wrote a play just to glorify  
What's stronger than hate, would they not arrange the stage  
To look as if the hero came too late; he's almost in defeat  
It's looking like the Evil side will win, so on the edge  
Of every seat, from the moment that the whole thing begins  
It is...

Chorus:  
Love who makes the mortar  
And it's Love who stacked these stones  
And it's Love who made the stage here  
Although it looks like we're alone  
In this scene set in shadows  
Like the night is here to stay  
There is evil cast around us  
But it's Love that wrote the play...  
For in this darkness Love can show the way

So now the stage is set. Feel you own heart beating  
In your chest. This life's not over yet  
So we get up on our feet and do our best. We play against the  
Fear. We play against the reasons not to try  
We're playing for the tears burning in the happy angel's eyes  
For it's...

_Chorus:  
Love who makes the mortar  
And it's Love who stacked these stones  
And it's Love who made the stage here  
Although it looks like we're alone  
In this scene set in shadows  
Like the night is here to stay  
There is evil cast around us  
But it's Love that wrote the play...  
For in this darkness Love can show the way_


	4. ch 4

_Fathers and Sons, pt. 4_

_Did someone say KickAss!Sandy?_

xxxx

The op-tech who had outfitted Sandy was watching SAC Martin with hooded eyes as Jack paced around him. The man strode furiously in a circle, cursing steadily under his breath. Jack Martin was known as a man with a long, very slow fuse. And the cold fury that was released when he did, finally, lose his temper was legendary. The agents under his command waited patiently, and a little apprehensively.

Jack had known this was possible, probable, in fact, but it didn't mean he was happy with it.

"I want every shooter we have aimed at the front door. Now!"

Agents ran, mouths to walkie-talkies snapping orders, fingers to ears as they listened for replies through their earpieces.

"When that door opens, Johnson, you and Kwan be ready to shoot on my command. I don't know who's going to bring the boy out, but if it's Atwood, and you have a clear shot, take it. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

_God, let Sandy have a plan._

xxxx

Supporting Ryan against him, Sandy turned toward Dave. "We're ready."

There was no movement. Sandy knew he needed to get Dave to the door, and he squeezed Ryan around the waist hoping the boy would understand.

"You gonna give me a hand? He's not a little kid any more, and he can barely stand up." Seemingly on cue, Sandy felt Ryan go limp, almost staggering them. He bit back a startled grin, slanting a look at Ryan. But Ryan's eyes were closed, his face shuttered. Sandy shifted his grip, glaring at Dave as he let Ryan sag in his arms.

Dave watched them coldly. Finally, he took a step forward. As Dave came toward them, Sandy moved to one side, putting himself closer to the door, keeping himself on Ryan's right side, protecting the injured arm.

The other man grabbed Ryan by the left elbow, jerking the arm up and over his shoulder, putting an arm around his waist, hauling him upright. Sandy felt Ryan flinch at the rough treatment, but the boy didn't make a sound, and Sandy gritted his teeth to keep from saying anything that might change Dave's willingness to help.

In silence they headed to the door, and Sandy made a note to himself where the other two men were – one to the right, peering through the curtains, one to the rear, still standing by the hallway door.

Slowly, they crept forward, and as they reached the front of the house, Sandy reached for the knob of the door, hoping, praying that this would work.

His fingers touched the smooth metal, and with one quick motion, Sandy turned the handle, and pulled, flinging the door open, even has he pivoted with Ryan, jerking the boy out of his father's arms, knocking him to the ground, throwing his own body over Ryan's.

xxxx

In the midst of the chaos – the blare of guns, the staccato ping of bullets, the cacophony of voices, shouting – Sandy heard it – a sobbing scream from Ryan when the two of them hit the floor, as Sandy covered his son with his body, trying to shield him.

Sandy raised himself slightly, frantic, trying to see Ryan's face. He pushed the boy's hair back, felt the clamminess of his skin, saw its chalk whiteness, the tears, heard the desperate whisper, "Sandy, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts," the unsaid, "Make it stop," felt his heart shatter as he leaned over, pulling Ryan close, answering helplessly, "I know, I know, I know," waiting, praying that it would all be over soon. Ryan bit down hard on his lip, pressed into Sandy.

Sandy kept his head down, one hand protectively over Ryan's head until the initial exchange of gunfire subsided. In between the now intermittent shots, Sandy risked a look around and with a sinking sensation, realized their situation really hadn't improved much in the last five minutes. He and Ryan were both still in the house.

He could see one man down, immobile, on the other side of the room, the light from the now open door making a clear path across the floor to his fallen body. Two others were hugging the walls, firing shots out the broken windows, through the doorway. Sandy's attention was caught by the sight of Dave Atwood across from him, blood streaming down his arm, face grim as he shot round after round at the agents outside.

Sandy felt the hatred in his gut start to rise into his chest, and he forced it away, swallowing it, making himself think, trying to assess the situation coldly. His mind kicked into high gear, considering possibilities, desperate to get Ryan out of harm's way. But even as his brain worked on the problem, a stifled whimper from Ryan derailed him.

Sandy felt the tremor of the moan reverberate in his chest, somewhere deep in his being, in a place he hadn't known existed before this week. Suddenly, the coldness was gone—and in its place was a fire of pure, unadulterated rage.

Later, Sandy would swear that he actually felt something snap inside him—as if that small sound from Ryan shattered the tenuous grasp on control Sandy had over the raw instinct that made him want to rip out the throat of the man in front of him. For the last six days Sandy had denied that rage, pushing it down and back, refusing to look at, or acknowledge, the murderous power behind it. Now, it was all he had—a fury so deep, so all-consuming, that the only thing he could see, blurred around the edges by red, was the man who had hurt his children.

And Sandy was going to kill him.

xxxx

Outside the house, Jack, watching through binoculars, had seen the flash of a yellow shirt as Sandy flew past the open door, heard through the mic the sound of bodies colliding, the voices raised in yells, noticed the cessation of firing from the cabin.

"Move, move, move!" he screamed into his walkie-talkie.

FBI agents in riot gear converged on the house, Jack right behind them, swatting at the hands that tried to hold him back as he raced toward the scene. It was over quickly. Agents poured into the house, taking deadly advantage of the distraction Sandy had unwittingly provided.

When Jack arrived, one agent was already crouched by Ryan, calling for a medic, easing the boy onto his back, speaking in a low, hushed voice, telling him he was safe, that he was going to be alright.

Jack could hear Ryan asking about Sandy, unresponsive to the agent's promises that Sandy was fine, feverishly insistent that someone make sure Sandy was OK. Jack started forward hoping to reassure Ryan, even as his eyes moved around the scene, assessing the situation. Quickly, he took in two men down across the room, one moving sluggishly as an agent read him his rights, the other utterly still. And to his left…

Sandy Cohen pounding on the motionless body of Dave Atwood.

"What the hell!"

Jack pushed through the knot of agents standing silently by and jumped in, wrapping both arms around Sandy, pinning the man's arms to his body.

"Sandy!" he yelled, tightening his grip and pulling upright, as Sandy struggled against him. Jack tried to shift him, throwing his weight to the left, hoping to turn Sandy, but Sandy would not be moved. He wrenched free, falling on Dave Atwood again, fists flying.

Jack grabbed Sandy again, snarling orders at the agents around him to get Atwood out of the way. This time, Jack jerked with enough strength to separate Sandy from Dave and slammed his friend up against the wall as a medic pulled Dave clear.

Hating it, Jack put Sandy in a choke hold and leaned all his weight against him, pressing him into the wall, cutting off his air until the enraged man stilled, lack of oxygen finally taking some of the fight out of him. Jack eased up immediately, but kept a firm grip.

"Sandy, you calm now?" Jack asked, breathless himself from the struggle. There was a pause as Sandy caught his breath, regained control. Jack felt Sandy's body slacken under him, and loosened his grip further. Finally, Sandy nodded, and Jack released him. Sandy turned, pale and shaken. Jack squeezed his arm in commiseration, eyes dark with understanding, and stepped back, letting Sandy see Ryan.

With a gasp, Sandy moved forward, dropping to his knees beside Ryan.

"It's OK, Ryan. It's OK." Sandy put a trembling hand on Ryan's forehead. "You're safe now, kid. It's over."

At the sound of Sandy's voice, Ryan's head ceased its restless movement, and his eyes opened, desperately seeking out Sandy.

"You're OK?" he asked hoarsely, only willing to believe it from Sandy himself.

"I'm OK," Sandy reassured him. "We're both going to be OK."

xxxx

The next hours were a nightmare of a different kind to Sandy.

In the aftermath of what Jack had called—half amused, half awed—his berserker rage, Sandy felt an exhaustion that made his body ache to its core. He had Ryan back and all he wanted was to take his son and go home. But, of course, it couldn't be that easy. Ryan was hurt—decisions needed to be made, treatment discussed; there were statements to be made, people to call, media to be handled. Sandy tried to gear himself up for the coming battles, but he was just so tired.

He sat in the helicopter, hand holding Ryan's, trying to pay attention to Jack who was outlining the course of action once they reached the hospital.

"Obviously, the first priority is getting Ryan taken care of," Jack started briskly, as the medics worked around them, inserting i.v.s, monitoring Ryan's blood pressure, examining his arm, treating the cuts and bruises on his face. Ryan was motionless as they worked on him and Sandy watched, nodding along as Jack talked, hearing it all, but not able to process any of it.

"Sandy?" Jack's voice was suddenly very gentle. A hand on his arm turned Sandy to his friend.

"What?" Sandy blinked, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Jack. What?"

"You're in shock." Jack reached into one of the overhead bins and pulled out a blanket. He wrapped it around Sandy's shoulders and called to the front of the aircraft, "Y'all got coffee up there?"

An arm reached back, extending a thermos. Jack took it, unscrewed the top and took a deep breath. He grinned at Sandy. "This'll help." He poured a cup and thrust it toward Sandy. Reluctantly, Sandy let go of Ryan to accept the offering. He took the cup in both hands, raising it to his lips. It was hot and black and sweet as hell. He shuddered as he drank, but began to feel the warmth spread from his belly almost immediately.

"Thanks."

Jack topped him off again. "I'm sorry I didn't catch it earlier. Your reaction shouldn't surprise me. You've had a hell of a week and a damn scary day."

"I…" Sandy opened his mouth to ask Jack a question, but an agitated movement from Ryan distracted him. Jack took the cup out of Sandy's slack grip as Sandy leaned forward, taking Ryan's hand again, eyes questioning the medic. She shook her head, frowning slightly, even as Ryan stilled.

"He's in and out, Mr. Cohen. I'm afraid I can't give him anything to do much for the pain at this point. The doctors will need to assess him without anything masking his symptoms." She touched Ryan's cheek gently. "The pain's making him restless."

Sandy nodded, tightening his grip. "Hold on, kid. We'll be there soon."

xxxx

Ryan felt the gurney hit the ground and the fire consume him, lancing out from his arm, engulfing him. Biting back the cry of protest at the pain, he opened his eyes, saw the blades of the helicopter whipping over him, heard the roar of the motors, voices raised to be heard, searched for Sandy, found him.

Sandy's eyes caught his, and Ryan saw a surprised smile light his foster father's exhausted face.

"Hey, kid." Sandy moved out of Ryan's line of sight, just for a moment, and Ryan felt his gorge start to rise. Then Sandy was back, jogging along side the gurney, taking Ryan's hand.

"Sandy," he whispered, struggling not to be sick, fighting against the pain.

"I know, sweetheart." Sandy ran a hand over his hair as he hurried to keep up. "It's going to be OK – we're at the hospital. They're going to take good care of you."

Ryan closed his eyes tightly and clung to Sandy's hand even as he faded back out.

He was jostled again and jolted into awareness somewhere he didn't recognize; people in masks and strange noises and no Sandy. _It hurt. Ithurtithurtithurt._ _Where…?_ Ryan felt his heart speed up, his chest start to rise and fall in quick succession, faster and faster. _Sandy… Where…_ He tried to sit up, desperate to run, to get away from this place that he didn't know, from the pain he couldn't escape. _Where was Sandy, why did he leave, where was Sandy…_ He fought against the hands that were restraining him.

"Ryan!" "Someone hold him!" "Honey, stay still." Hands grabbing at him, pushing him down and Ryan struggling weakly, a sob starting deep in his chest.

He didn't understand. He thought it was over. He thought Sandy had come. _He thought Sandy had come._

"Mr. Cohen!"

Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness Ryan heard the call, paused, absorbing; and suddenly Sandy was there, hands on Ryan's face, soothing, trying to calm.

"Hey, hey, hey." Sandy's face, blue eyes worried, eyebrows drawn together, filled Ryan's field of vision. "Shhhhh. I'm here. Ryan. Look at me. It's OK."

"Sandy." Relief overtaking the terror. "Please…" Ryan's eyes caught Sandy's and then rolled to the side, to the strange figures, voice shaking, afraid. He didn't want to be alone again.

"I'm here." Ryan saw Sandy's eyes shift to one of the masked people. Doctors, Ryan realized with a start, brain catching up, initial panic fading with Sandy's presence. "I…"

Ryan blinked rapidly, his mind finally processing what was happening. He was suddenly embarrassed, realizing where he was. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, and he went completely still.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, mortified. "I'm so sorry…"

"It doesn't matter." Sandy was shaking his head, fingers again wiping tears off Ryan's face, gentling. "I'm right here and I'm not leaving."

Ryan drew in a steadying breath, trying to will his heart to stop racing. He let the sound of Sandy's voice and the words sink in. Ryan nodded his acceptance.

"I need you to be still, though, OK? Can you do that for me?" Ryan nodded again, taking another uneven breath. He could do that.

xxxx

Sandy kept his promise, not moving from Ryan's side as the doctors and nurses worked around him.

"Mr. Cohen, we need to be right where you are for awhile. Can you…?" Sandy nodded, looked at Ryan.

"Buddy, I'm going to move to the end of the bed, OK? I'm still here—just down a little." He smiled, squeezed Ryan's hand. "See, it'll be easier for you. You won't even have to turn your head."

Ryan took in what Sandy had said, assessed it. "'kay," he agreed, eyes following Sandy's progress toward his feet.

Sandy put a hand on Ryan's foot, gave his big toe a squeeze, watched a smile flit across Ryan's drawn face, winced as Ryan paled again as the technician moved his arm while they maneuvered the x-ray machine around him.

It seemed like hours that Sandy had watched Ryan suffer, since they'd gotten to the hospital. But he knew the reality was much shorter.

Still. No matter now swift and efficient the staff was being, it was too long to see your child hurt like he knew Ryan was hurting. He bit his tongue to keep from asking—again—about when Ryan could expect relief. _They're working as fast as they can. Don't distract them._

Finally, the frantic pace around Ryan seemed to slow, and Sandy saw a nurse insert a syringe into the i.v. She caught Sandy watching her and smiled tiredly at him.

"The doctor prescribed some pain meds for him. This will help."

Sandy watched Ryan's face as the medication did its work. Slowly, the tension eased, and the boy on the gurney transformed back into the kid Sandy knew; he hadn't even realized how different Ryan looked until he saw him pain free. Or at least with the pain markedly reduced.

"Wow." Ryan blinked owlishly at Sandy. "That is so much better."

Sandy actually laughed at loud at the slurred words. He moved back to Ryan's head, ran a hand through his hair, grabbed a handful, gave him a gentle shake.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Ryan smiled at Sandy, eyes unfocused.

"Mr. Cohen?"

Sandy turned to the man at the door, acknowledged him.

"I'm going to go talk to the doctor for a minute, OK? I'm still here." Sandy wanted to reassure him.

"'kay," Ryan mumbled, eyes already shut. Whatever.

"We need you to sign some consent forms," a nurse said as she handed Sandy a clipboard.

"OK," he said, signing wherever she pointed. He looked at the doctor.

"What am I agreeing to?"

The doctor smiled wryly in sympathy, too used to the procedure of the hospital and dealing with emergencies not to be aware of how overwhelming everything could be to parents faced with medical decisions fortheir injured children.

"Surgery. For his arm." Sandy had finished scrawling his signature on the forms and handed everything over to the waiting nurse.

The doctor headed to a lighted panel on the wall of the emergency bay, thrusting an xray into the holders. Sandy followed, keeping an eye on Ryan.

"His arm has been dislocated in two places—elbow here" he pointed, "and shoulder here" again he pointed. "Plus there are a couple of breaks here and here." The doctor also emphasized the fractures with an out thrust finger.

Sandy nodded, peering at the slides. He could actually see the breaks in the bones, where the joints were not in alignment. He glanced again at Ryan, swallowing.

"We need to repair the damage and, actually, some of the healing." Now the doctor peered at the films. "Can you see here?" He indicated two points, one at the elbow and one at the shoulder. "With joints out of the socket as long as his were, the body starts trying to heal around it." Sandy couldn't really see what the doctor was referring to, but he believed him.

"When…" Sandy started to ask about the timing, but was interrupted by what was clearly the surgery prep team coming through the doors.

"Right now," the doctor answered the unspoken question.

"Wait." Sandy went to Ryan, pushing past one of the women who was taking hold of the gurney, about to move the boy. "Don't…" He stopped the bed. "I need to talk to him."

The woman in charge made an impatient movement, and opened her mouth to protest.

"Give them a minute." The doctor cut her off, nodding at Sandy.

Sandyspared the man a grateful look as the group left them alone. He took Ryan's hand.

"Hey, kiddo."

Ryan turned his head to Sandy, blinked open his eyes. "Hey," he whispered groggily.

"How're you feeling?"

"OK, I think." He was clearly struggling to put words to his thoughts. "Still hurts." There was a long pause. "I just don't feel it." Ryan frowned, puzzled. _That didn't make sense_.

But Sandy seemed to understand, and he brushed unruly bangs off Ryan's forehead.

"I talked to the doctor, and he says he needs to operate on your arm, kid."

Ryan nodded, eyes slipping closed, agreeable to anything Sandy suggested. "'kay."

"I'm going to have to find out what drugs they've given you and lace all your food and Seth's when we get home." He smiled at Ryan, continuing to mess with his hair. "I think I could get you to agree to anything at this point."

"Prob'y," Ryan said sleepily. He stirred slightly, belatedly picking out another word from Sandy's sentence that meant something to him. "Seth?"

"He'll be here. And Kirsten, too, when you wake up." He smoothed a hand back over Ryan's forehead.

"Kirsten?" Ryan's voice faltered. Tears began to trickle out of the corners of his eyes, the reality of what had happened stark on his face again.

Just the mention of Kirsten's name seemed to crumble Ryan's defenses, and Sandy watched with a physical pain in his chest as the grief and residual fear resurfaced, watched as the boy fought back against the emotion he'd mostly held so carefully in check for the last week.

"I want Kirsten," Ryan whispered brokenly.

_What was it about "mom,"_ Sandy wondered,_ that could reduce even teenage boys to tears with the wanting of her when they were hurt or scared?_

But Sandy wanted her, too; abruptly, overwhelmingly Sandy ached for his wife.

"She's coming," he said.

xxxx


	5. ch 5

_Sorry for the long delay between updates. _

_This chapter might be better titled Mothers and Sons._

xxxx

It wasn't until Ryan had been wheeled into surgery that Sandy had the time or the energy to think about Seth and Kirsten and contacting them. He'd known that Ryan needed him, so he'd stayed, concentrated on distracting the boy, reassuring him, keeping him calm until the anesthesia took hold.

He'd watched the gurney disappear behind the swinging double doors and stood, bereft for a moment. The numbness settled over him again now that Ryan's immediate well-being was being taken care of by someone else, and it took Sandy a moment to figure out what he should do next.

_Kirsten._

xxxx

Sandy opened the door to Ryan's room, and stuck his head inside before entering, smiling tiredly at the tableau before him.

Four hours earlier, Seth had managed to commandeer a large chair from the waiting room and had dragged it into the room, maneuvering it close to the bed for his mother. Then, Sandy had watched as Seth had squeezed into it with Kirsten, folding his lanky body into the chair beside his mother. Sandy opened his mouth to chide his son, but was silenced by a look from his wife.

She shook her head, and with a soft expression on her face, shifted as best she could to provide room for Seth. Twisting slightly, she raised her arm to Seth, who pressed close to her side and put his head on her shoulder. Kirsten wrapped her free arm around her son, even as she continued to stroke Ryan's hand with her thumb.

"Do we just have to wait for him to wake up?" Seth asked quietly, his eyes on Ryan.

"Pretty much, baby." Kirsten answered softly. "It's good for him to be asleep right now." She turned and kissed the top of Seth's tousled head. "We just want to make sure we're here when he wakes up."

Now Seth was asleep. Kirsten's head rested on Seth's, but her eyes were open, watching Ryan. The movement from the door drew her eyes to Sandy, and he eased into the room.

"No change?"

A slight movement of her head told him no.

"Well, that's to be expected." His voice was a whisper as he sank into the chair next to hers. "The doctor said it would probably be tomorrow morning."

"I know, I just…." She trailed off, eyes moving back to the boy in the bed.

"I know." Sandy put his hand on the arm that was curled protectively around Seth.

xxxx

Ryan was uncomfortable. That was all he knew. There was something tickling his nose. He was sleeping on his back, and he never slept on his back. He shifted restlessly and tried to raise his right hand to his face, but couldn't. He frowned groggily trying to figure out why his nose was itching, why he couldn't move his arm. He tried his left arm.

"Hey." A gentle hand took his, guiding it back to his side. "I'm sorry, sweetie, you're going to have to leave that alone."

Ryan moved his head toward the soft, familiar voice. "Kirsten?" His voice was scratchy as he tried to open heavy eyes. He managed to slit his eyes to a position where he could see.

"There you are you." Kirsten had his face in her hands, stroking her fingers against his cheeks. She was pale and slightly disheveled, but she was smiling at him, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Welcome back, sweetheart." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, a small sound like a sob escaping her, as she leaned in to hold him.

Ryan relaxed into her embrace. He was confused, but relieved that Kirsten was there.

Kirsten kissed him again and pulled back, now wiping her tears off his cheek.

"Sorry," she said with a watery smile. "How are you feeling?"

Ryan's eyes shifted uncertainly around the room, before they came back to Kirsten.

"Where are we?" It was a whisper—unsure.

Kirsten smoothed his hair, running the tips of her fingers through it.

"The hospital in Newport." The soothing motion of Kirsten's fingers in his hair didn't stop even as she hesitated. There was something in his eyes that made her vaguely uneasy. "Do you know why you're here?"

Ryan blinked at her for a moment, looked down at his arm in its cast, couldn't remember. "I don't…." His head felt so thick, and he couldn't make himself focus. There was something there, just under the surface, something he should know, something….

Ryan felt his breath start to hitch.

"Shhhhh, baby. It's OK."

"I can't…." She could see the confusion escalating to fear in his eyes, his expression young and vulnerable.

"It doesn't matter, Ryan." Kirsten took his face in her hands. Ryan shifted uneasily under her touch, eyes restlessly moving around the room, his breathing increasingly erratic.

"Shhh." Kirsten whispered, trying to soothe him. "Sweetie, look at me," soft but insistent.

The gentle pressure of her hands forced Ryan to make eye contact. His heart had started to race, and he looked at her desperately, trying to figure out how he couldn't know what had happened.

"What…?"

"Honey, it's OK."

He shook his head uneasily as he took a shuttering breath. "I don't remember," eyes pleading with her.

"It's OK, baby, it's OK. Don't worry about it right now."

Her palms were soft and cool against his cheeks, and her thumbs made soothing circular motions against his temples.

"Just trust me, all right?"

Her voice was low, and Ryan blinked dazedly at her, unsure what was happening. He was frightened by the strange place and the pain in his arm that was beginning to work its way into his consciousness.

But Kirsten's eyes captured his and wouldn't let him go.

She was here; she wouldn't let him go. Staring into her eyes, Ryan felt the panic ease, slowly receding.

"OK?" She said it gently, eyes kind, telling him she would take care of everything.

He nodded now, believing.

"OK."

xxxx

Ryan had fallen back to sleep not long after that. There had been no more talk, just Kirsten's fingers threading softly through Ryan's hair as his eyes drifted closed. Unconsciously, he'd shifted closer to her, one shoulder brushing her hip as she sat on the bed. Unwilling to break the contact, she'd stayed on the bed even after he was asleep, hand resting lightly on his head until Sandy and Seth returned.

Sandy's eyebrows rose in a question when he saw Kirsten on the bed. Kirsten smiled in return and whispered, "He was awake for a few minutes." When Sandy and Seth joined her at the bed, Seth plucked uncertainly at the sheet and peered into Ryan's face.

"Was he OK?" Seth frowned at his mother. "Why is he asleep again?" While Seth managed to keep his voice low, it was still an accusation. He looked at his father for confirmation. "We weren't gone all that long."

Sandy put an arm around Seth's shoulders and drew him in for a quick hug. "I know it's frustrating, but the doctor said he'd probably be in and out for awhile." He glanced at Kirsten. "It's good news, though, that he woke up."

Kirsten nodded, and started smoothing Ryan's hair again.

"He didn't remember what had happened."

Sandy looked at her sharply, as Seth looked anxiously from Kirsten to Sandy.

"Is that normal?" Seth's voice was beginning to rise, and Sandy drew him away from Ryan's bedside with a glance at Kirsten. "Let's go out in the hall."

Kirsten eased off the bed, brushing a kiss on Ryan's forehead. "I'll be right back, sweetheart," she whispered in his ear. It seemed to Kirsten that Ryan made a soft noise in response, brow knitting. Kirsten smoothed his hair and kissed him again. "Don't worry," she reassured him one more time as she followed her husband and son out of the room.

Kirsten closed the door gently behind her.

"What does it mean that Ryan doesn't remember?" Seth was insistent. "Does he have amnesia?" He looked accusingly at his mother. "Have you talked to the doctor? What does he say?"

"I don't know what it means, sweetie," Kirsten tried to reassure Seth. "I haven't talked to the doctor. It felt more important to me to stay with him until you guys were back. I didn't want to leave him alone."

Seth turned to his father.

Sandy reached out and put a steadying hand on Seth's shoulder.

"I'll go find the doctor. Stay here with Mom, OK? I'll be right back."

Seth nodded, gave his mother a stony look, and went back into Ryan's room.

"What…?" Kirsten gave Sandy an astonished look. Sandy raised his eyebrows at her, surprised as well. "What was that about?" He shook his head at her and gave her a brief, hard kiss. "I don't know." He kissed her again. "I'll be back, OK, and we'll figure it out."

Kirsten joined Seth at Ryan's bedside. He was staring down at his friend, the fear and uncertainty written plain across his face. Kirsten ran what she hoped was a soothing hand down his arm, giving his elbow a gentle squeeze. "Sweetie…"

But Seth would not be comforted, moving out of her grasp, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. Kirsten sighed, and let her hand drop. She'd wait until Sandy returned to press her son further. Silence descended on the room. Minutes passed.

"If he has amnesia, will he not know who we are?" Seth's voice was a whisper, and he still wouldn't look at his mother.

Kirsten turned to him when he spoke. "He remembered me. He just didn't remember what had happened." She watched him closely, trying to read his reaction.

He nodded.

"Do you think it's permanent?"

"I really don't know." She paused. "If it is, we'll figure something out." She put an unsteady hand to her face. "All things considered," her voice faltered and she struggled to hold back tears, "maybe it's for the best that he doesn't remember." She trailed off, wiping at the wetness on her cheeks, focused on the boy in the bed. In her mind she imagined the nightmare Ryan had lived through. The tears continued to course down her cheeks and she sank into the chair beside the bed.

"Mom, I'm sorry." Seth crouched down next to her, putting a hand uncertainly on her shoulder. "I didn't…"

Kirsten came out of her daze at Seth's touch, and turned to him, wrapping him in a hug. "Oh, sweetheart. It's OK. We're all scared." She smoothed her hand over his head. "And he's been awake. That's good news, Seth. OK?" He nodded.

"I'm sorry," he said again, holding her tightly. Kirsten returned the embrace.

"I know, baby. It's OK."

xxxx

The doctor hadn't been surprised or alarmed that Ryan wasn't exactly clear on what had happened.

"Remember what he's been through the last week—add to that major surgery and some pretty heavy duty drugs—he's tapped out." The doctor looked kindly at the anxious faces around him. "He'll be more coherent the next time he surfaces. If he continues not to remember, we'll take another look. For now, don't panic. And don't let him panic."

He met Sandy and Kirsten's worried gazes sympathetically. "There'll be time for him to remember soon enough."

xxxx

It was Kirsten who'd been there again when Ryan regained consciousness. Sandy had been near catatonia himself from exhaustion, and Kirsten had tasked Seth with getting his father home and in bed.

"Mom," he'd protested, eyes on Ryan. "I want…"

"Sweetie, I know. I really do, but right now I need you to take care of your father, so I can take care of Ryan."

"I should be here when he wakes up, Mom. I…"

Kirsten had shaken her head, trying to be gentle with him, but she was tired herself and running out of patience.

"Seth, please. If you'll take your father home, I can stay…"

"You take Dad, Mom. I'll stay here. I want…"

"Seth Ezekiel!" Kirsten's sharp voice had cut him off. "This is not about what you want. It's about what Ryan _needs_. And as happy as he's going to be to see you, what he's going to need when he wakes up is your father. Or me."

Seth had just glared at her, not willing to understand what she was getting at, and she'd sighed.

"Honey, when you first woke up in the hospital last week, who did you want?" She'd asked it gently, but pointedly.

Seth had blinked, blushed.

His head went down.

"You," he'd whispered.

Kirsten's eyes filled, and she reached for him. "Baby, I know I'm not Ryan's real mom, but, I think he's going to need the closest thing he's got right now, OK?"

Seth returned his mother's embrace, nodding his understanding. "You're the best mom he's ever had," he'd said softly. "He'll want you."

And Ryan had.

She'd watched him after Sandy and Seth had left, one hand always in contact with him. Sandy had told her how frightened Ryan had been, how he'd had needed Sandy close, panicked without a constant reminder that Sandy was there. So, Kirsten tried to reassure him now, even as he slept, speaking softly to him, holding his hand, smoothing his hair, never letting him forget that she was there.

Because she was watching so closely, she'd noticed the moment his eyes started to open. She moved closer.

"Hey, baby," she whispered as he eyes began to move under his lids.

The blue eyes that appeared were hooded, sad. _He remembers_.

"Hey." So soft.

"Are you thirsty, sweetie?"

He nodded, eyes on hers.

She picked up the container on the bedside table, rattled a spoon as she scooped up ice.

"Just chips, for now."

He nodded again, opening his mouth.

He sucked on the ice, letting the cool liquid ease down his throat. He swallowed.

"Seth?"

Kirsten smiled, smoothed his hair. "He'll be here soon. He put Sandy to bed, but they'll be back."

Ryan looked away, and then at her again.

"Is he OK?" he asked brokenly, tears starting down his cheeks.

"Oh, baby," Kirsten moved forward, wrestling down the rails on the side of the bed. She'd forgotten that he didn't know what had happened since he'd been taken. She got as close as she could, wrapped her arms around him, and he leaned forward, into her.

"He's fine. He's going to be fine."

"I'm sorry," he sobbed.

"Sweetie," she crooned, horrified that he would be blaming himself.

"Baby, it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault." She rocked him back and forth. "Shhhhhhhh."

She could feel the tremors shaking his body as he cried. Nothing she said seemed to calm him, so she kept up the gentle swaying motion, not knowing what else to do.

As she held him, Kirsten pressed her face into his hair and closed her eyes. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the terror of the last week, at the realization of how close they'd come to losing him. And she started to cry.

"You're safe now. You're safe." She said it over and over, as much for herself as for him, tightening her hold. "We've got you," she whispered.

Ryan quieted eventually, and Kirsten felt more than heard his ragged sigh as he settled into her. They sat in the silence for a long time, Kirsten gently stroking his back as his breathing evened out. She smiled as he scrubbed his face against her shoulder, drying his tears, before he eased away from her.

She put her hand to his face, wiping away the last traces of wetness, and reached for the container of ice chips again.

"Here." She gave him another spoonful. He took it gratefully, and opened his mouth for another after the first had dissolved.

Ryan leaned back, exhausted.

"Are you having any pain, sweetie?"

There was a pause as he considered the question, then he nodded slightly, and she could see it in his eyes.

"Let me call the nurse."

The nurse was quick and efficient, checking Ryan's vitals and adjusting his meds. When she left, Kirsten smoothed out his covers, and settled into the chair next to the bed.

"Better?"

Ryan nodded, watching Kirsten, even as his eyes started to droop again. Kirsten smiled as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Go back to sleep, sweetie. Seth and Sandy will be here when you wake up."


	6. Chapter 6

_Fathers and Sons, pt. 6_

_I'm sorry it took so long to get this out. Life and frustration conspired against me. Thanks to those of you who continued to send occasional notes. They kept me from abandoning this story completely – it's amazing what encouragement and guilt can work. :) Thank you for your patience._

_A belated Father's Day offering._

xxxx

The next time Ryan woke, he turned instinctively to the chair by his bed, but Kirsten was gone. In her place was a gangly form, head topped by an unruly mess of brown hair. Seth was all off-kilter, slumped in the chair, arms around his legs, head at an odd angle. In the dim hospital light, Ryan could see the fading bruises on Seth's face, and his stomach constricted.

"Hey."

Ryan was startled by the soft voice. His eyes went sharply to Seth's.

"Hey." His own voice was hoarse, still rough with disuse.

The boys regarded each other silently, neither sure what to say. Slowly, Seth uncurled. He sat up stiffly, and perched on the edge of the chair. Still without making a sound, Seth reached out his hand. Hesitantly, Ryan held out his own, grasping Seth's.

"You're OK," Ryan said softly after a long moment. "I…" his voice broke as he stopped helplessly.

"I'm OK." Seth moved closer, tightening his grip on Ryan's hand. He grinned lopsidedly. "I've never had a black eye before. I feel like a real man now."

Ryan choked, half laughing, half crying. "You look like one, bro."

"Yeah?" Seth sounded inordinately pleased with himself.

They lapsed into silence again.

"Are you OK?" Seth asked it hesitantly.

Ryan met his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "Now, I am."

Seth nodded.

"Grand Theft?" He pointed to the gaming console already attached to the hospital television.

"Yep."

Seth took in Ryan's arm, immobile in its cast.

"I'm so gonna beat your ass."

xxxx

When Sandy returned, he heard his sons before he saw them.

"Dude, no!" Seth's voice carried through the door.

He saw the grin on Ryan's face as he entered the room, one hand awkwardly working the control, eyes intent on the television mounted on the wall.

Seth was sitting on the bed next to Ryan also using only one hand.

"No!" Seth shouted. Sandy's heart skipped at the elated expression on Ryan's face. The boy twisted his body as best he could, face contorted as he tried to bend the machine to his will.

"Yes!" Ryan's hoarse voice was triumphant, and Sandy grinned at Seth's crestfallen face.

"Who's your daddy?" Ryan smirked as the game signaled its end.

Seth met his father's eyes with a look that was soberingly adult.

"You are, man," he said shaking his head in defeat and grinning.

"Hey, Sandy." Ryan's open smile made Sandy's heart constrict again. Sandy knew that Ryan's relief at seeing Seth, being with Seth, was the cause of this giddiness.

"Did you see me kick Seth's ass?" Ryan demanded, oddly out of breath.

Sandy frowned in mock seriousness.

"Don't say 'ass,' Ryan," he intoned. Both boys giggled.

"Well, don't say it in front of your mother, anyway," he allowed.

Beneath the flush of happiness on Ryan's face, Sandy saw a pallor that made him pause. Unable to stop himself, he put a hand to Ryan's forehead, checking for heat.

Ryan didn't even roll his eyes, just leaned back against the pillows. Sandy reached for the Xbox control, and Ryan surrendered it without a fight, abruptly exhausted.

"Lie down, kiddo." He eased Ryan the rest of the way down onto the bed, as Seth watched worriedly. "Dad, I…"

Sandy smiled reassuringly at Seth. "It's OK, son."

"You boys just overdid it, I think," Sandy said gently. "Ryan?"

The boy blinked at Sandy, recognizing the paternal glint in the man's eyes. Ryan scowled petulantly, even as he felt the unwelcome ache of weariness start to drag him under. "I don't want to sleep." He hated this. He looked over at his friend. "I want Seth…" He trailed off.

But Seth was already turning off the television.

"One ass-whupping a day is my limit." Seth's gaze went to his father, and Sandy was startled by the understanding he saw there.

"Seth's not going anywhere, Ryan."

Ryan's eyes went to Seth, and Seth nodded his reassurance, though he wasn't sure what support he could offer.

"Have you had water recently?" Sandy asked, reaching for the ever present pitcher. Ryan shook his head.

Sandy poured a glass, guided the straw to Ryan's mouth. Ryan took several deep drinks.

Seth watched uncertainly as his father took care of Ryan. Ryan didn't struggle or protest, just with a slightly grudging expression let Sandy tuck him in. Smiling, Sandy leaned close to say something softly in Ryan's ear, and Seth felt an odd twinge when Ryan's face eased in response, his eyes going to Sandy's. A small smile appeared, and there was a shared look that left Seth standing awkwardly on the outside looking in.

"Seth?" Ryan curled gingerly onto his side.

Seth moved toward the side of the bed, hunkered down so he was eye level with his friend.

"You're coming back tomorrow?"

Seth nodded. "Yeah, man."

"Good." Ryan gave a sleepy, self-satisfied smile. "I'll kick your ass again."

xxxx

"Dad?"

Sandy looked up from the document he'd been reading. He and Seth had moved out into the small waiting room. It had been early when Ryan drifted off, and Kirsten wasn't due back for a couple of more hours.

"What, Seth?"

Seth stared pensively down the hall toward Ryan's room. He looked worriedly back at Sandy.

"Is Ryan OK?"

Sandy's surprise was etched across his face. "Seth, he's fine. He gets tired quickly, but he's getting better."

Seth bit his lip, still uncertain.

Sandy stood, moving toward his son. He sat down in the chair next to Seth. "What is it?"

"He's different," Seth said softly.

Sandy watched Seth's profile contemplatively. He tried to think through the right thing to say.

"What do you mean?" he asked gently.

Seth struggled to put words with what he was feeling.

"I don't know. He's just… He let you…" Seth couldn't articulate what it was about watching his father interact with Ryan that afternoon that had shaken him like it had.

But Sandy thought he'd gotten it.

"I think he is different, Seth." Sandy said it softly. "I think we all may be different."

Sandy put an arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him close.

"You know. All these months that Ryan's lived with us, I would have said—I did say—that I considered Ryan my son." He turned to look at Seth. "You know that don't you?" Seth nodded.

Sandy paused, considering his next words.

"Until this last week, though, I don't know that I would have said I considered him my child." He looked at Seth again. "Do you know the difference?"

Seth met his gaze and shook his head uncertainly.

"You're my child, Seth. You have been from the time you were born." He quirked a smile. "Obviously. It's hard to explain how a baby's helplessness bonds it to its parents, maybe especially to dads. Moms are already bonded—they've carried the baby in them for nine months, they breast feed—there are physical, hormonal things that turn a woman into a ferocious she-bear when it comes to her child."

"For dads…" Sandy paused again. "I mean, when your mom was pregnant with you, I was thrilled. I was over the moon with happiness that we were going to have a kid, that I was going to be a father. But it wasn't until I held you for the first time – this little being that was completely and utterly dependent on me – that I realized the enormous weight of responsibility that caring for a child would be. That was when I knew…"

Sandy trailed off, remembering. "When I knew that I would never be able to breathe without knowing you were safe." He grinned at Seth. "That you would be asthma to me." Seth ducked his head, and Sandy wrapped both his arms around his son, pulling him into a fierce hug. Seth returned it, then pulled back, embarrassed.

Sandy let him go and continued. "I had that realization with Ryan this week. It knocked the breath out of me in a way I never would have anticipated to have him taken from us like that, to know that he was hurt, and was being hurt; that he was alone and frightened and in danger …" The fear rose again and Sandy couldn't go on.

He took a moment before he said unsteadily. "For the first time, I really understood that Ryan needed me the way any child would need his father. And I realized that I would do anything—_anything_—to protect him, to bring him home."

Seth felt a shiver of recognition run through him as his father spoke, when he saw the look in Sandy's eyes. He knew, abruptly, what his father was talking about and it simultaneously frightened and thrilled him.

"That changed me, Seth—the same way holding you the first time changed me."

Sandy took another deep breath.

"By the same token, I think that for the first time, maybe in his life, Ryan counted on a parent who came through for him."

Sandy turned in his chair to face Seth. "Do you know what he said to me when I found him?"

Seth shook his head.

"He said, 'I knew you'd come. Seth said you'd come.'"

Seth felt his throat close up and he struggled to breathe.

"He trusted you, and he trusted us. He had a choice. He could believe that we would find him, that he _could_ trust us or he could believe that we would fail him. Like he's been failed so many times before."

Sandy was quiet for a long time.

"That kind of trust, that kind of dependence on someone else, changes us. It changed Ryan."

"I think that Ryan's realized he can trust us the way you do, the way most kids instinctively trust their parents. You trust that your mother and I love you; that we will always take care of you, that we would do anything to protect you. On some levels, you probably don't even realize it." Sandy smiled. "And as a teenager, you definitely don't like the way that looks all the time."

"But underneath it all, you know that your mother and I would give up our lives to keep you safe."

Eyes wide in recognition, Seth nodded his acknowledgement.

"I think that for the first time, Ryan knows that, too."

"I don't think this new … vulnerability, or whatever it is, will last forever. I just think right now he doesn't have the emotional or physical reserves to put up all the walls he's used to protect himself with us. Especially now that he _knows_ that he doesn't have to."

Sandy rubbed a hand up and down Seth's shoulder as they sat, still, for a long moment.

"Give him some room to adjust, Seth." Sandy was quiet again. "And some time to figure things out."

"Okay," Seth agreed softly. Awkwardly, he struggled to his feet. "I'm just gonna…" He nodded his head down the hall toward Ryan's room.

"Sure."

xxxx

Kirsten had called to let Sandy know she was running late. She wanted to run by the house and make sure the house and the pool house were ready for Ryan's return. The doctor hadn't let them know an exact date, but they were hopeful that it would be within the next day or so.

"How's he doing?"

"Fine. Asleep." Sandy smiled. "Rough game of Grand Theft Auto wore him out."

"Sandy…"

"Honey, he's fine. He needed the time with Seth and a little bit of normal."

He heard a soft sigh on the other end of the line. "OK."

"Did you kiss him good-night for me?"

Sandy rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Yeah."

"Sandy." There was a definite warning in her voice. "You actually kissed him?"

There was a long pause. Busted. "I _told_ him you kissed him good-night."

"Not good enough."

"Kirsten, he's a …"

"You kiss him good-night for me, Sanford Cohen!"

"You'll be here…."

"Sandy."

Sandy bowed his head in defeat. "Fine."

He heard her gentle laugh in response.

"Thank you," she said, generous in victory.

xxxx

Sandy poked his head around the door, wondering what he'd find. All was quiet.

The light at the head of the bed, cast a blue glow over the room. Ryan was curled on the bed in much the same position he'd been in when Sandy had left the room just a few hours earlier. Seth was tucked into tight ball in the chair, head on the armrest, knees under his chin, snoring lightly.

Sandy moved quietly across the room, sliding into the space between the bed and the chair. His eyes went from one boy to the other, and slowly he crouched down, watching his sons as they slept. Balancing himself carefully, Sandy rested a hand on each boy, closing his eyes and breathing a prayer of thanks.

Knees creaking, Sandy stood. He bent down, smoothing the hair back from Ryan's forehead, studying his sleeping face. Gently he kissed his cheek.

"From Kirsten," he said softly. Reaching down, he pulled the thin blanket up around Ryan's shoulders, and, settling it, kissed him again, "From me."

Sandy straightened and turned his attention to Seth. Smiling at his son's awkward position, Sandy pulled the extra blanket off the back of the chair and draped it over Seth's form. Then, he bent down again and gave Seth two gentle kisses.

"Goodnight, boys."

_The end._


End file.
